


You're playing for somebody else now

by VirtualRevolution



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Holmescest only mentioned, M/M, Music, Piano, So don't worry, Unhealthy Relationships, little bit sad maybe, or.. don't expect too much, really short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 22:04:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5066122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VirtualRevolution/pseuds/VirtualRevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's eyes only gave it away for a heartbeat. His brother was heartbroken.<br/>For a moment he slipped, his left ring finger hitting a key that he wasn't supposed to hit. Immediately his concentration went back to the music. Back to Gregory.<br/>Never mind his stupid little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're playing for somebody else now

Long, pale fingers were almost flying over the keyboard, obviously very skilled. Mycroft's gaze was on the piano, concentrated, serious, but something was different.  
He looked up, his eyes meeting the one's of another man. Utter admiration and praise in his eyes, Greg was watching Mycroft. They didn't talk, he was just listening to what the politician was doing. Greg would be lying if he said, he didn't believe Mycroft was able to play like this, no... But it was still surprising. A person appearing so cold, that they gained the nickname 'Iceman' was able to warm up your heart like this. With just a bit of piano playing and now a smirk. Of course, he knew that he was good. And of course, he knew Greg was falling in love with him more and more, every second. 

Sherlock held his breath, not causing one sound, not even the slightest one, just staring at his brother and the detective inspector. He should have known. He should have seen the signs.  
Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he couldn't manage to keep the frown out of his face, the agonising sight in front of him just made him angrier with ever glance shared between the two other men.   
Mycroft was playing for Lestrade now. Not him. But it always had been him, that Mycroft had been playing for.   
Sometimes they would play together, Sherlock the violin and his brother the piano. But that was history now. And Sherlock knew it.  
Knew he should probably even be relieved. Should be...  
But he wasn't not at all.

Mycroft kept his glance fixed on Greg. He could sense that they were being watched, though. It was obvious and nothing special since they were at his parents home. He had been doing three things this weekend. Coming out as gay to his parents, introducing Greg to them as his lover – and with that cutting every rope that was tying the strange relationship together that he had with his brother.  
He took the risk and glanced over to his brother who was just staring back. Jealousy, anger and frustration on his features. And something that Mycroft had known he would be seeing – Sherlock's eyes only gave it away for a heartbeat. His brother was heartbroken.  
For a moment he slipped, his left ring finger hitting a key that he wasn't supposed to hit. Immediately his concentration went back to the music. Back to Gregory.  
Never mind his stupid little brother.

Greg hadn't noticed him yet. Mycroft had, though. Sherlock turned around and left, walking down the hall to his old room. He hadn't even want to come home for that stupid weekend. But of course – Mummy had insisted. “If your brother wants us to meet a special someone, you'll be here, Sherlock.”  
He shook his head angrily and clenched his teeth.   
Lestrade – of all people, it had to be him.   
The detective slumped down on his bed and stared at the wall across the room. This wasn't good.  
He could still hear the bloody music and knew there was nothing he could do to fix what had happened.   
Mycroft had wanted to end it. He had wanted to stop things as soon as he had noticed how out of hand it had gotten, but Sherlock had always found a way to pull him back into it.

Mycroft closed his eyes, his play had gotten louder, more aggressive. When he looked up again, his eyes were mocking him and for a moment, just a moment he could see Sherlock in Greg's place. Looking at him with the same amount of admiration but the love was lacking. Mycroft all but shook his head and blinked. There he was again. Gregory. Still looking at him lovingly, tenderly. Mycroft smiled back and calmed down enough to let the music sound softer again.  
He didn't 'love' the man in front of him. But then again... he didn't even love his own mother. Mycroft turned his glance down again. Not in submission. He simply didn't want to give himself away.  
He didn't love anyone. Nobody. Same as Sherlock, even though the younger man craved proximity much more than he did.  
He let out a silent sigh and remembered how it had all started.

“That's amazing, you're amazing, all hail to you.”  
“Shut up, Sherlock.”  
Mycroft didn't look up from the piano, but he knew exactly what his younger brother was doing. It was always the same. Every time he was trying to practice, his brother appeared and climbed onto the old Steinway grand piano. He didn't mind that part, it was just the constant mocking, that was driving him crazy.  
“You can't even play.”  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. Sherlock had gotten violin lessons for his 5th birthday, so he played for about 9 years now and he was amazingly talented. Pity was, that he knew how good he was.  
Mycroft, on the other hand, didn't have as much time, he was self- teaching himself how to play and Sherlock was right. He hadn't been good at first. Not at all. Luckily he had been patient and practising almost all day after he had finally finished university.  
Only Sherlock didn't know that yet. His little brother had been off to Eton for the last few months. Their parents had decided that it was time to get some manners and discipline into the boy. Well, obviously that wasn't really working.  
Mycroft looked up, seeing Sherlock laying on his stomach on the grand piano and rolled his eyes.  
“You're getting too heavy for that, you're not some kind of maiden, you know, brother mine?”  
“You're hardly one to tal....”  
He cut Sherlock off as he began to play. Mouth open, Sherlock just watched, as his now skilled fingers danced along the keyboard.  
Smirking he looked up, knowing that he had won again.   
When he stopped, Sherlock just blinked at him for a little while, before sliding off the instrument and storming out of the room, furiously.  
It was only five minutes later that he returned with his violin and it became something like a competition, who played better, more fluently, the harder songs. One whole year they had been bickering and glaring at each other whenever they both were at home just to let everything boil up to run into the music room and start their competition all over again.  
But it when Sherlock came home from Eton for Christmas, a year later, there was no fight in him and at first Mycroft just assumed the boy was too tired and, to be honest, he had been glad.  
Ignoring Sherlock for about 3 days straight, he had enjoyed the peace. It was only then that he realized exactly how little Sherlock was talking anymore. To all of them.  
He had gone to his brother's room, asking what was wrong and exactly two hours later he had to hold a crying Sherlock in his arms. Mycroft couldn't remember when the last time had been, that he had seen his brother cry.  
Boarding school wasn't a healthy thing for Sherlock and Mycroft knew, but he had been going through the same and knew there was nothing he could do about it.  
He had been leading Sherlock to the music room and played for him. Soft, peaceful and calming pieces until the boy had finally fallen asleep on the couch.   
After that, it became a habit. Whenever he was upset, Mycroft would play for him. And a year later it had finally gotten out of hand.  
Sherlock was now paying regular visits. Mycroft should have known that this wasn't any good, but maybe he hadn't wanted to see it.  
It was always the same. Sherlock would come over. He would play (sometimes Sherlock joined in) and afterwards they ended up having sex. Mycroft didn't even remember how it had started. All he knew was, that he was bloody shagging his 16-year-old brother on a regular basis. Everything about this was wrong, but he couldn't stop it. No matter just how much he loathed himself for it. Sherlock would just keep coming back and make it impossible to say no.  
Both of them craved the proximity of a person that just understood. And neither of them could find said person elsewhere. It was an easy solution. No problems. But of course, it wasn't that easy in reality.  
Mycroft began to prompt fights, so Sherlock would stay away and Sherlock would find ways to manipulate his brother emotionally, sometimes to a point where the elder was almost shattered.  
Both of them got drawn into a spiral of misery and sex. And both of them knew they had to stop, but ignored the logical thing to do.

“..croft?”  
Mycroft snapped back into reality and stopped his playing. “I'm sorry, I must have... What were you saying?”  
Gregory chuckled and leaned in to kiss the Iceman. “I said that sounded pretty sad all of a sudden. Are you alright?”  
Mycroft sighed and pulled Greg closer, before getting up and smirking. “I'm fine, Gregory. I was just thinking about something. But really, it doesn't matter anymore. It should have never mattered.”  
He led Greg out of the room, towards his own. Only to slow down for a second as they walked past Sherlock's room.   
“Just forget about it.”


End file.
